


tell me how this story ends and i'll keep them fires burning

by kuchi



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Avatar State, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Canon, obligatory finding out about zuko's scar fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:01:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25041331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuchi/pseuds/kuchi
Summary: “Does anyone know?”Zuko picks a particularly bright star and glares at it. He can get this over with right now, just like he’s done before. “People know, Aang. I’d be surprised if anyone in the Fire Nation didn’t. It wasn’t a secret why I was banished.”
Relationships: Aang & Zuko (Avatar), The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 84
Kudos: 1911
Collections: Quality Fics





	tell me how this story ends and i'll keep them fires burning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Noctugna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noctugna/gifts).



> inspired by [this post](https://really-sleep-deprived-nerd.tumblr.com/post/622291452701065216/reading-about-aang-wordlessly-crying-from-horror) you made on tumblr. thanks to guileheroine for beta!

"Again, from the first stance! No earthbending this time, I can see you hoisting those pebbles to trip me!"

Zuko yells himself hoarse, panting as he chases Aang along the craggy terrain. They're practising in one of the most deserted areas of the Earth Kingdom, just beyond the western edges of the vast Si Wong Desert. In the six months since Zuko's coronation, he's been swamped with duties large and small, from reorganising the Fire Nation's advisory cabinet, visiting colonies – soon to be former colonies, mostly – and getting adjusted to the minutiae of palace life and etiquette.

Needless to say, he jumped at the chance when Aang had suggested dropping everything for a couple of days to practice firebending out in the middle of nowhere. Sort of like the old days. Once they had arrived at a suitably uninhabited spot and made camp, Aang sent Appa to Sokka, whose current task being lugging resources between the rest of the world and the Southern Water Tribe, needed him more. After that, they truly were alone. And by the second full day of practice, Zuko has learned that Aang had more left to learn about firebending than he'd thought.

He wipes the sweat dripping into his eyes with his sleeve, and starts after Aang. Zuko relishes this – the fighting, the freedom and, he has to admit, the shouting. None of which was befitting for a fledgling Fire Lord under immense scrutiny in the capital, but was all perfectly fine for the firebending master of one impertinent Avatar.

As a firebending teacher, there are things Zuko notices now that he didn't have the luxury to work on before the comet. There were bigger cranefish to fry back then, as the inhabitants of the most recent colonial outpost Zuko had visited would say, but now there's an almost absurd amount of space in his mind to observe the details he never had before, practising for the sake of practising. He notices, for example, that Aang never uses fire when air does the same trick – propelling himself out of Zuko's way, for the most part. He hasn't decided whether he'd call that a liability, like his instincts tell him, or an advantage, like Uncle would probably say. He also notices how loose Aang's resting gait is; slack in a way that makes Zuko's posture ease begrudgingly to see it. That wasn't true before the comet. He notices how Aang's limbs are getting gangly in a way that is far more awkward than a childhood propensity for skinniness.

And Aang makes no secret of the things he notices about Zuko's fighting, too. He must know Zuko favours his right side, judging by the way he throws fireballs to his left to disorientate him if he gets too close on Aang's heels. And when he's feeling nicer – which he foolishly does, often – he'll always lean a certain way when he's in Zuko's sight, turn ever so slightly so that he's open to Zuko's good eye, whether he's playing a student whose stance must be assessed or an enemy to be sized up.

Aang _is_ getting good. It's just that Zuko's getting better, too.

"You don't scare me, Sifu Hotman," Aang counters, dodging deftly out of Zuko's way and landing on the jutting edge of a boulder.

"You should be scared," Zuko snaps, though he's half-joking now. Ever since the Sun Warriors, something has cleared up in his firebending that lets him actually _think_ while he's using it. The screaming is just too cathartic to pass up.

Aang scrambles off the rock just as Zuko shoots a spout of flame towards it, swinging neatly onto a branch overhead in a whirlwind of air. "I was, once. You used to be pretty scary before you joined us. The firebending and the scowling and that huge, angry scar."

Zuko feels himself flinch in slow motion. Aang's eyes, wide with adrenaline, darken a minuscule amount. Alarm, then shame, flits over his features in a long second, and he opens his mouth–

That's more than enough distraction for Zuko to topple him over clean, a well-aimed strike on the branch between the purchase of his feet.

*

The thing is that it's a long time coming. He should have expected it. Many – most – people have commented about his scar before. He hasn't batted an eye over it since the first year after his exile. But the moment stubbornly sticks in his mind, surfacing as he lies down on the dry earth next to Aang. A fire prickles next to them, occasionally fed by either party, but out here, it does little to diminish the glimmer of the stars.

Is Zuko getting softer? Or was it the way Aang's face had shadowed over with guilt? Either way, it's stupid. Aang probably knows, he could have easily heard it from any stranger while he was mingling in the Fire Nation school, or after the coronation, within the palace walls.

Zuko sighs. It's nice to imagine Aang doesn't know. He'd had to tell Aang how he was exiled and compelled by his father to catch him. It was unavoidable, explaining himself to a new ally – a friend – why he had relentlessly hunted him all over the world. But Aang is skittish, unconcerned when the weight of the world isn't on him; it's easy to skirt around the finer details of Zuko's exile.

It was nice, for once, to let people learn him and _like_ him, and without wondering whether the gory details of his childhood played a part in that process. He's happy to pretend that still stands true for Aang.

Of course, Aang doesn't let it go.

"I'm sorry for what I said about–"

"It's fine, Aang."

"No, it's not. I said something stupid without thinking. I didn't mean to make you mad."

"Really. It's not a big deal. You're not the first person to tell me that my scar is frightening."

There's a scuffle of motion next to Zuko. When Aang speaks again, his voice is closer, urgent but quiet with regret. "No, Zuko. It's awful to bring up your appearance like that. I shouldn't have done it."

Zuko has predicted this part. He nods tightly, ready to give Aang his best impression of a smile. Not that that's going to do much to improve what's so scary about his appearance.

Wait – his _appearance_.

That's what Aang thinks this is about. It dawns on Zuko that Aang might really not know. The idea comes too fast and the question tumbles out of his mouth before he can stop it, "You don't know how I got my scar, do you?"

Aang doesn't reply. Maybe this was the wrong thing to say. Zuko probably sounds accusatory – of course he does, and now Aang thinks he's upset him yet again; and he's going to have to brace for another apologetic speech when all Zuko really wants is to get this conversation over with. The silence around them weighs heavy.

Finally, Aang takes a breath, deep and deliberate. He's not so subtle that Zuko doesn't catch the flicker of his eyes towards Zuko's face.

"Does anyone know?"

Zuko picks a particularly bright star and glares at it. He can get this over with right now, just like he's done before. "People know, Aang. I'd be surprised if anyone in the Fire Nation didn't. It wasn't a secret why I was banished."

Aang nods shortly. Zuko senses rather than sees the movement. He waits, but Aang doesn't say anything more, waiting. The silence is expectant but surprisingly subdued this time.

"...Sokka. And Toph."

For a split second, he wonders if Aang might take offence. He has no idea how he would navigate that one.

Surprisingly, it's Toph of all people he ended up trusting to be quiet and discreet – growing up around nosy noblemen and women does that to you. It wasn't hard to let it slip in a quiet conversation between them in the veranda of Uncle's tea shop when everyone else was playing games inside. She had said nothing, only squeezing his hand extra long – and extra _hard_ – when they had finished talking, before wandering inside to join Suki and Mai's pai sho game. Zuko's heart swelled under the throb of the near-crushing of bones. Sokka had been sleighing with him, an off day not unlike this one during his much-publicised first post-war trip to the South. Sokka had made it easy, a firm arm on Zuko's shoulder and words just on the right side of cavalier, hiding nothing of the alarmed, righteous set of his brows, but not pushing, either.

But Aang – Aang is proving Zuko right about hesitating with his grave silences and long beats and gentle thoughts. It could go either way with him, and an ever-loosening part of Zuko doesn't know which he would prefer.

Katara's the one who would be indignant – which is why she's the last point on a surprisingly long list of friends. Zuko's okay. He will never say that he's made peace with what happened – he can hear Uncle's stricken voice in his head pulling him away every time he flirts with the thought – but he understands why it happened. The mechanics of it, the only way the cards could fall into place given the manner in which he had transgressed, who his father was and what his nation valued. It took him a long time, unlearning all he had learnt to see how he was not at fault, and then learning how to deal with the gaping chasm of pain and unjustness once he realised that fact. Katara doesn't know how to compartmentalise or come to terms, not like her brother and Toph. He can't risk one gaze of profuse sympathy from her undoing all the hard work he's done to keep it all in place.

But Aang just turns on his side, knees and elbows bent in long shadows from the fire, before his gaze lands on Zuko's face. He looks at him, then tears his gaze away and shakes his head. "It's okay. You don't have to tell me."

And then it's quiet again, but with those few words, the silence isn't so heavy any more. Zuko nods and lets his head fall back into the patchy grass with a thump. The ground is cooler than the air, and he presses his neck into it, thinking.

Aang has already trusted him with so many memories on this trip. None of them are sad yet all of them are devastating. Zuko knows because whenever Aang normally mentions growing up with the air nomads, he'll whip out some curious anecdote or point of interest to his friends. Not here – here he's solemn and wistful to the point that Zuko almost can't stand it, and it makes him wonder what's going on in Aang's head all those other times. To be so calm in the face of such unfathomable loss. It makes Zuko want to tear his hair out to think about it, so he doesn't. Instead, he thinks about the memories themselves. Last night, Aang had talked about his teacher, Monk Gyatso, and about making and throwing peach pies. He had talked about his daily routine, and the smell of the mountain air at dawn. How the fog would always hang in the horizon at dusk, as if the evening chants of the monks were holding it up. On the first night here, he had talked about the Fire Nation friends he'd made travelling and Zuko had almost choked on his lime berries. He made a mental note to check the libraries to find out more about the connections of his own people before Sozin razed them all in his pride.

Aang would close his eyes and be grateful. Glassy eyes as he recounted the elaborate bows he and Monk Gyatso always performed to each other, or a small lopsided smile as he recited the rules of a marble game Kuzon had taught him, and looking at him, Zuko knew then, if he didn't know before, that he was looking at the bravest kid in the entire world.

"It was right before I was exiled. I was thirteen," Zuko starts. The words feel preemptive, maybe because it's the first thing an outraged Sokka exclaimed when he told him, or maybe because it was always Uncle's first retort when they argued about it those first, terse weeks on the ship. "We were in a war meeting and I– I disrespected a general. I was challenged to an Agni Kai."

Aang's brows are furrowed. "He made you duel the guy? Just for all that?"

"He–" Zuko swallows and looks down. That's an unsurprising first assumption for those who aren't privy to the palace rumour mill. "It was a little more direct than that."

Aang swallows, working through what Zuko's telling him. "They – scarred you on purpose?"

Zuko shakes his head tersely. This isn't the first time he's told a friend. It shouldn't be this hard. Except the way Aang looks at him, sitting up now with wide, woeful eyes, makes the awful words catch in Zuko's throat. He turns to Aang and finds his eyes. "My father did. It was my father who I disrespected, so it was him I had to fight. Except it wasn't a fight at all."

Zuko pinches his brow, rubs his forehead, and waits.

"Your–" Aang says, and for a second, Zuko thinks he's trembling. "Your father – you were a _child_ – "

Zuko glares into the fire and nods tiredly, waiting for Aang to go through the familiar motion.

But he doesn't.

In a split second, the meagre glow of the fire is swallowed, overpowered in a blinding white light. Zuko jumps to his feet, heart thumping.

" _You were a child!_ " A voice – a piercing, booming crash of a voice – thunders from Aang. Zuko has to shield his eyes from the light, pouring from his tattoos and eyes.

It's gone as soon as it came. Zuko gazes down at Aang, who is sitting there slumped, like something knocked the wind out of him. Zuko blinks out of shock.

"Sorry," Aang says. His voice sounds small; weak and childish after the Avatar State. "Zuko – I – I'm sorry–"

Stunned, Zuko opens his mouth. There's a million things he's about to ask: sorry for what? For what had happened to Zuko, for asking about it, for his reaction? Before he can get any further, shock still burning the image of Aang in the Avatar State into his eye, the full weight of Aang slams into him. He's enveloped in a tight, quaking hug, and Zuko can do nothing but hug him back.

"That's– that's–"

"Cruel. Wrong. I know."

"That's _disgusting._ That's evil." Aang steps backwards. He spits the words so uncharacteristically that Zuko thinks he can make that link, the one he never could before. How the righteous might of the Avatar – a _god_ – could exist in an easygoing kid like this without eating him alive. It's almost more awe-inspiring than witnessing the Avatar State.

Aang doesn't apologise for the transformation afterwards. He doesn't even bring it up.

*

A couple of weeks after their trip, Zuko is attending a meeting with the Southern Water Tribe for the Imperial Reparations Operation on Whaletail Island, the outpost serving as somewhat of a midpoint between their nations. Aang isn't present, but Katara is there as always, on behalf of the other Water Tribe leaders. Zuko catches her just before she's about to leave to return South, a hand on Appa's rein in the courtyard in front of the building. They've already said goodbyes, but the thought occurs to Zuko late and he can't resist.

"Before you go," he calls. "I wanted to ask you something."

Katara turns to him with a quizzical tilt of her mouth. He waits until he's right next to her to continue; there are still a few officials milling around the entrance, and Zuko knows from experience how even the most learned of folks aren't above a little gossip when the Fire Lord is involved. It still feels profoundly awkward to ask her about this, though Zuko doesn't know why. "Has Aang ever– has he ever gone into the Avatar State? Randomly, I mean. Not during a fight."

Her eyes darken and her brow furrows instantly. There's clear heartbreak in her frown as she thinks and Zuko has to look away. Maybe he shouldn't have asked. His friends don't know every hardship he's been through, and he isn't stupid enough to believe the reverse isn't just as true –

"A few times. The worst of it was when– when Appa was stolen by some smugglers in the Earth Kingdom. When Aang learnt that they'd taken Appa, that they muzzled him, he got so upset that he–" she cuts off and shakes her head, patting down Appa's fur next to her. Her voice is painfully quiet, "It was scary. Once when I was in danger, too." She frowns, thinking, before gripping Zuko's arm in momentary sorrow. "And - oh, I'd almost forgotten. When he found the body of Monk Gyatso."

Zuko nods sympathetically. Aang's wistful voice echoes in his head: the monk's mischievous smiles, his wise teachings when Aang was confused, his humorous temperament when Aang needed cheering up. Aang's own guardian, who Zuko couldn't imagine since the trip without picturing the face of his own dear Uncle.

"Why?" she asks.

Zuko looks up at Appa, the humongous beast's beady black eyes squinting as they face the setting sun. He thinks about how deeply Aang adores him; not only a constant companion for all his travels, but the last remaining friend from a home that he will never again be able to go back to. And last but not least, to Katara, who continues to gaze imploringly, now from atop Appa's saddle.

Zuko hopes to the heavens that he's not doing anything to give away the warmth flooding his chest and meeting in the corners of his eyes.

"I just wondered."


End file.
